


Despite Everything

by queerlyobscure (softestpunk)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: #briefly wet sad trash baby bucky barnes, Other, civil war trailer fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 13:38:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5293139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softestpunk/pseuds/queerlyobscure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky is lost, and then he is found, and at every point between and after, he is sad. Briefly, he is wet. But eventually, he has friends.</p>
<p>A response to the <em>Captain America: Civil War</em> trailer. Also a response to my own enjoyment of Bucky being sad, in pain, and ideally wet. Potentially plays fast and loose with canon, who can say?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Despite Everything

When the first few things come back to him, Bucky expects that the rest of his memories will reappear in fragments, dripping in slowly like the busted showerhead in the homeless shelter he’s found himself in. 

He’s wrong.

He’s so very, extremely wrong.

One moment he’s up and walking around, the next he’s on the floor, screaming. Not at the memories, but at the sheer physical pain of having his brain reboot on him. He maintains just enough consciousness to convince whoever’s standing over him not to call an ambulance, but not enough to protest when he’s dragged into a car.

Only a general sense of familiarity stops him from straight-up murdering whoever’s got their hands on him.

Aftershocks jolt him every few moments, each one bringing a new wave of forgotten sorrow, or pain, or joy. He remembers being a kid. He remembers the war.

He _finally_ remembers Steve.

That hurts, too, but in his chest instead of his head.

He gets marched into what he recognises as a hospital with the familiar person--he knows this guy, this is the guy who brought him down to the shelter. He’s a Catholic.

Bucky can’t remember his name at all, but everything tells him the guy’s intentions are good. It kinda helps that he’s shouting for someone to come help, and that he thinks Bucky’s having a stroke.

Maybe he is, for all he knows. He sure as hell hasn’t had one before.

Mark. Mark is the guy’s name.

No one seems to think the situation is as urgent as he does, so they sit down in a waiting room. Bucky can more or less see straight again, which he takes as a good sign.

“Jesus,” he mumbles as another jolt hits him. It’s like being electrocuted.

Well, it’s like he thinks being electrocuted might be. It feels familiar, too, but not in the kind way Mark does. A wave of nausea washes over him at the thought.

Nausea he definitely remembers. Most of his nausea-related memories also involve Steve saying ‘I told you so’ but smiling at him anyway.

He’s not entirely sure how he feels about that. It’s better than the electrocution feeling, though.

“I’m getting a nurse,” Mark says decisively. He’s a good man.

Bucky’s long gone by the time he gets back.

He realises once he’s out in the fresh air that they’re less than a block from the shelter, which makes the car confusing. Maybe, in addition to being a good man, Mark’s an idiot. Hopefully, he’ll have a nice life anyway.

Bucky goes out of his way to avoid going past it.

He stops suddenly twenty minutes later and ducks down a familiar alleyway to look straight up at the window of his and Steve’s old apartment. Before he’s really made the decision to do it, he’s climbing the fire escape to peer in the window.

Inside, there’s an older woman sleeping in front of the TV, curlers in her hair and slippers on her feet. It didn’t seem late when he left the hospital, but Bucky has no idea what time it is.

On closer inspection, the clock in the living room tells him it’s a little after seven. He’d barely noticed the sun go down, and he must’ve been walking for a lot more than twenty minutes.

Great. He had all his memories back at the expense of the entire rest of his brain function.

Another jolt left him gripping the handrail on the fire escape hard enough to bend it. He kept forgetting about the goddamn metal arm. He didn’t remember getting it.

He suspected that was a blessing. He also suspected his mind would wait to spring it on him while he was asleep.

The sky opens up as Bucky walks away from the apartment. Of course. It wouldn’t be a day in the life of James Buchanan Barnes if something that could go wrong hadn’t gone wrong.

Bucky could imagine Steve giving him A Look for saying that. As though he was the only one in the world who had problems, when Steve had a black eye or a busted hand or had been coughing up a lung two minutes ago.

He has to find Steve. Steve’s the only person left alive who knew him. Knows him.

Knows the person he used to be, once.

After walking a little way further, Bucky stops to stare at a newsstand closing up for the night. There’s a big picture of Steve’s face on the front page, with the words ‘Vigilante or Villain?’ printed in heavy black text beneath it. No bias at all from the… Daily Bugle, Bucky notes. He’ll remember that name.

“That ain’t fair,” he says to no one in particular. “He’s doin’ the best he can.”

“He grew up around here, ya know. Before the war. Hard to believe he’s a hundred years old.”

“Ninety-seven,” Bucky corrects absentmindedly. Nearly ninety-eight.

“You must be a fan.” Bucky finally looks up at the guy packing up the stand. He looks twice Bucky’s age, but he’s probably less than half it.

“I guess you could say that.” Bucky smiles to himself. He was definitely Steve’s number-one fan a lifetime ago. There were probably people with houses full of memorabilia now, though.

“Keep the paper. I’m not gonna sell it tomorrow.” The guy shrugs. Bucky snatches it like it’s made of gold.

“Thanks, man.” He rolls it up carefully and tucks it under his arm. “Hey, just outta curiosity, how would you go about contacting these guys? The Avengers.”

He’d heard about The Avengers. They mostly seemed like assholes, but the Commandos had been the same until you got to know them. They probably made a great team.

“Get attacked by a supervillain, I guess.” The guy chuckles. “They’ve got headquarters in Manhattan, but security’s tight. No one’s seen them there in months, anyway.”

“Thanks,” Bucky repeats. “You take care.” He waves as he walks away.

“Same to you,” the guy calls out.

Bucky’s vaguely aware that he looks exactly as homeless as he is, but he can take care of himself. Now that his head’s cleared, he remembers how to do that.

Nobody wearing a pure wool suit and carrying a real leather briefcase was about to miss the few hundred dollars in cash Bucky finds in their wallet. There are credit cards, too, but he’s not completely sure how those work. They use a computer, though, so they were probably something that could be tracked.

The last thing he needs is to get arrested. If for no other reason than that Steve would never, ever let him hear the end of it.

He knows from past experience that Steve doesn’t like picking people up from jail. Especially people who’d gotten arrested for either public drunkenness or public indecency, which in Bucky’s case usually meant getting busted coming out of an, uh, _gentlemen’s establishment_. With his mouth attached to the mouth of another man. Drunk.

He wonders for a moment if that’s still a thing and then decides it definitely is. It’s probably even better now.

Another tiny jolt unearths an uncomfortable memory involving Steve, drunkenness and kissing that Bucky honestly wishes hadn’t come back. It just makes him feel guilty all over again.

He’s not about to walk to Manhattan at this time of night on the off chance he wouldn’t get turned away at the door--or, again, arrested--so Bucky’s thoughts turn to finding somewhere to sleep for a while instead. Somewhere he can have a room of his own with a lock on the door.

The hunt for Steve can start in the morning.

***

 

The hunt for Bucky ends as suddenly as it started, and with almost as much imminent danger of death.

The only positive thing about his day so far, Steve thinks, is the definite spark of recognition in Bucky’s eyes this time. He knows who Steve is. If they all manage to get themselves killed in the next ten minutes, at least it’s something.

Not that he intends to get them killed in the next ten minutes.

Sam might kill him in fifteen, but he probably wouldn’t kill Bucky. He’ll probably be Bucky’s new best friend.

It occurs to Steve as a bullet clips the tip of his ear that he’s about to have twice as many best friends to gang up on him. It also occurs to him that he needs to focus on getting them both out safe and sound. 

Bucky careers around the corner and collapses beside Steve, blood seeping through his hoodie. Sam comes to a stop on Steve’s other side and looks over at Bucky.

“You’re bleeding,” he points to the pool of blood, as though Bucky might not have noticed it. Bucky gives Sam his very best no shit look and yeah, they’re gonna be friends. But not if they don’t get out of here.

“So what’s the plan?” Steve turns to Sam.

“Are you not the Man With A Plan?” Bucky mutters darkly. He’s lucky Steve loves him.

“Sam’s the newer model.”

“You’re not doing so bad for a couple of old guys.” Sam grins. The men chasing after them have taken to shooting at the wall they’re taking cover behind. It’s a solid plan for them, since the wall’s starting to sound like it’s ready to give way.

That gives Steve an idea.

“How’s your arm?” He turns to Bucky.

“Grazed. No big deal.” Bucky nods to the blood spreading along his sleeve.

“I was actually talking about the other one. You think we could push this wall down?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow and then turns to brace himself.

The wall comes down on the count of three, on top of what seems like half the German police force.

Hopefully none of them will be too badly injured, but Steve’s a lot more interested in Bucky’s well-being right now.

It’s been a weird couple of weeks.

“It’s been a weird couple of weeks,” Natasha says in Steve’s ear. Steve’s still not convinced she’s not psychic. “Are you guys coming, or...?”

Steve practically falls into the passenger seat of the car he’s not going to ask where Natasha got. They’ll return it later.

Natasha glances in the rearview mirror before taking off at speeds Steve’s sure he’s only ever done in a plane before.

“Every time I pick you up from somewhere you’ve collected another pretty boy.” She smirks. “People might start to think it’s a habit, Rogers.”

Bucky starts laughing in the back seat and it’s all Steve can do to hope that he won’t say anything too embarrassing.

“I am so pretty,” Bucky agrees. He and Natasha are also going to be best friends.

“I found us a safehouse. Hope you like cows.”

Cows honestly sound a lot better than the anger of a whole police force, so Steve nods and lets Natasha handle the driving.

“Steve hates cows,” Bucky speaks up. He’s still bleeding and it’s starting to make him look pale. Paler.

Short of anything better to use as a bandage, Steve struggles out of his shirt to triple wolf-whistles. The three of them are going to be bad influences on each other.

“Bandage his arm,” Steve instructs.

“Your ear’s bleeding.” Sam takes the shirt and tears a strip off it. To Steve’s surprise, Bucky quietly lets him wrap it around his arm.

Steve takes a scrap of shirt Sam offers him and dabs at his ear with it. “Lucky I didn’t get it pierced after all.”

“I can do it with a sewing needle later.”

“Is there anything you can’t do with a sewing needle?” Sam asks.

“Mend a shirt.”

Secretly, Steve thought Natasha probably could mend shirts, but he wasn’t about to say anything. He’d been doing his own sewing--and most of Bucky’s--since he was a kid, anyway.

Sam was smarter than that, too.

Bucky was, thankfully, asleep.

“Your boyfriend’s drooling on me,” Sam complains, but doesn’t make any attempt to move Bucky.

This was good. Steve had no expectation that it would be easy, but it was a good start.

“That means he likes you.” Steve grins, confident that they’re safe for at least the next ten minutes.

 

***

 

Bucky wakes with a start, cold and out of breath and unable to see, with a weight pressing down so heavily on his chest that for a moment, he’s afraid he’s about to be crushed under it.

All he can do is lie still and wait for it to pass, hoping he hasn’t woken anyone else up. He remembers the weird little cottage in the middle of nowhere, and that Steve and Sam and Natasha are somewhere nearby.

It’s nice to be able to remember things. It feels like it’s been a long time since he’s had the luxury.

He rolls out of bed just as his brain takes another electro-shock jolt, and stumbles before righting himself.

“Buck?” Steve mumbles from behind him.

He hadn’t realised Steve was in the room, let alone the same bed. A strange, dizzying sense of loss hits him that he can’t quite pinpoint the origin of. He remembers lying awake at night to make sure Steve took every single laboured breath, one after another, and now he couldn’t even tell when Steve was a foot away from him?

“I’m fine,” Bucky insists more forcefully than he means to.

“Go back to sleep.”

“You’re not my real mom.” Bucky allows himself a smile at the retort, and heads for the door. He loves Steve, and it’s a comfort to know he’s right there, but he needs a minute.

He doesn’t need Steve to see him freaking out. He doesn’t need anyone to see that.

The kitchen is equally dark when he finds it, but there’s plenty of light to see by. Even if there wasn’t, now that he’s truly awake, he can tell where things are by the way the air moves around the room.

The quiet, dawning knowledge that this is how Steve experiences the world, too, isn’t something Bucky’s ready for. He hasn’t had a lot of time to think about how not-entirely-human he is now.

He flexes the fingers on his left hand and tries to forget about it.

When he turns the tap on to pour a glass of water, every single pipe in the house bangs. He shuts it off quickly, but it’s bound to have woken someone. On the second try, he manages to turn the tap on gently enough not to freak the plumbing out.

Halfway through the glass of water, he hears another heartbeat enter the room. A few moments of thought tell him it’s too big for Natasha, too small for Steve, so it has to be Sam.

Or an intruder who’s about to sincerely regret picking this particular house to break into.

“Can’t sleep?” Sam asks. Except, he asks as though they’re already friends.

It’s weird as hell, but it’s nice. Bucky already gets what Steve sees in Sam.

“Sleep and I had a falling out.”

Sam leans against the kitchen bench. “Those were some nice moves earlier. I’m starting to think people who’re into antiques have the right idea.”

“Listen, kid,” Bucky starts, then wrinkles his nose at how strange it sounds. To him, Sam seems older than he is.

Certainly a lot wiser, but Bucky suspects Sam is a lot wiser than a whole lot of people. He’s got the look of an old soul about him.

“So are you, uh, into antiques?” Bucky asks. He means to ask if Sam and Steve are together--they could be, Sam’s definitely Steve’s type, and they seem close--but as soon as the words are out he realises that it’s the most ambiguous non-sequitur ever and Sam’s probably just gonna think he has some kind of brain damage.

Bucky doesn’t know that he doesn’t have some kind of brain damage, but other than the occasional electric shock, he feels fine. For all he knows, he’s slurring or speaking French and everyone’s just being really calm about it.

“I’m not sure if you’re hitting on me or about to ask me about wood stains.”

“I was trying to ask if you and Steve are a thing.”

It’s not important, not really, but it’s also the single most important thing in the world right now. Bucky feels like an asshole for wanting to know, but also like it’s a piece of information he needs to continue his life.

“Nope.”

Sam’s heartbeat tells Bucky that he wants to say something else. He decides not to push. They’ve all got secrets.

Well, Steve doesn’t. Steve doesn’t understand the concept of shame, so he has no need for secrets.

“You’re army, huh?” Bucky changes the subject.

“Was, yeah.”

“There’s no was,” Bucky says. Sam looks as though he knows exactly what Bucky means.

They both go silent, but there’s no pressure in it. Bucky starts to feel his chest unlock, his lungs fill up properly again.

He can definitely see what Steve sees in Sam.

“I’m gonna go back to bed.” Bucky drains his glass, rinses it, and then leaves it draining by the sink. He’ll probably hear about that from Steve in the morning, but he’s not standing around waiting for a glass to dry. “Thanks.”

Sam doesn’t respond verbally, but as Bucky leaves, he seems happier. It’s probably better not to worry about how he manages to be so calming.

Steve’s still awake when Bucky sneaks back into the bedroom. He expected that, but it’s not what he wanted.

He climbs back into the bed anyway. Steve’s a hundred times warmer now than he used to be, but it’s cold out. Bucky remembers doing this in winter all the time so they wouldn’t freeze. There’s a lot of comfort in the familiarity, and Steve does at least smell the same as he remembers.

“I like Sam,” Bucky says. He doesn’t know how to ask Steve if he can curl up against him and cry for a few hours, so it’s the best he’s got.

“Sam likes you, too.”

Steve doesn’t mention the time Bucky tried to kill all of them. No one’s talking about how they’d be smarter to be afraid of him than to help him. No one’s even taken up a defensive stance when he’s been nearby.

It would almost be better if they had. Not that Bucky wants them afraid, but this is… wrong. He doesn’t deserve the kindness of two total strangers and the best friend he tried to murder a handful of weeks ago.

He shuffles a little closer to Steve. Steve takes the hint and finally pulls him into a bear hug. It’s pretty obvious that he’s been waiting for a sign that Bucky isn’t about to punch him for it.

Bucky’s jaw finally unlocks. He hadn’t even realised he was holding it so tight.

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” Steve murmurs into his hair.

Despite everything, Bucky believes him.


End file.
